


Tell Me Where You Go

by FrostbitePanda



Series: arroyo seco [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst-y, Drabble, F/M, Missing Scene, Mostly fluff?, One Shot, Scraps, Short, Sort Of, Well not really, deleted scene?, happy birthday jw, idk - Freeform, kind of, like directly after, off shoot, post chapter 9, present tense for some reason, thumbprint scar, thumbprint scar universe, vignettes are used and abused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostbitePanda/pseuds/FrostbitePanda
Summary: It’s strange… the idea of leaving. Like she would never see him again. As if this wasn’t what normal people did… make love and then go to work, live their lives.She stands in front of him and she paints the image of him into her mind, to keep for later— there in sock-feet and flannel pajamas, a ratty Modest Mouse tee that leaves so little to the imagination it’s a wonder he bothered with wearing a shirt at all.But she knows he isn’t just wearing it out of modesty, and her heart thumps painfully in her throat, thinking of what she had been permitted to see, to know and touch, last night.(deleted scene from 'Thumbprint Scar'. post chapter nine, Dany POV. for JW.)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: arroyo seco [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630210
Comments: 43
Kudos: 171





	Tell Me Where You Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justwanderingneverlost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwanderingneverlost/gifts).



> what can i say about JW?
> 
> she's unfailingly kind, patient, understanding and good to the core. she's brilliant and talented and has been one of my greatest friends these past three (!!) years. she deserves all the fluff in her life. this is just a small approximation of what i owe her. happy late birthday, my friend. i hope you enjoy.

The sound of crunching gravel announces Missy’s arrival, and Dany thinks she’s never been less pleased at the prospect of seeing her dear friend. 

She has to return to the ‘real world’, so to speak. Wake from this fucking amazing dream contained within this little cabin and the warmth of his skin. 

She looks over at Jon, who regards her with a sad sort of knowing. He gets up from the couch without a word, climbing up the ladder to his bedroom to gather her bag. 

She sighs, stands from the couch, upending Binx from his comfy perch on her lap. “See you later, buddy,” she coos at him, scratching his ears in apology. 

Jon returns, this time with pants on— to her dismay and for Missy’s benefit, no doubt. He offers her the bag, dangling from two fingers. She takes it with a smile that feels odd on her face. 

It’s strange… the idea of leaving. Like she would never see him again. As if this wasn’t what normal people did… make love and then go to work, live their lives. 

She stands in front of him and she paints the image of him into her mind, to keep for later— there in sock-feet and flannel pajamas, a ratty Modest Mouse tee that leaves so little to the imagination it’s a wonder he bothered with wearing a shirt at all. 

But she knows he isn’t just wearing it out of modesty, and her heart thumps painfully in her throat, thinking of what she had been permitted to see, to know and touch, last night. 

“See you, cowboy,” she tells him rather weakly. Why was this so hard all of a sudden? 

They’d fucked… oh to be sure, they’d fucked… released all that built up tension that had piled and piled up over the weeks. But they’d also laid themselves bare, raw and blemished and blighted just as they were. Parting now felt… premature. They hadn’t had near enough time to properly pack each other’s wounds, tend to each other’s hurts. 

They’re both still bleeding. Aching. 

Her only comfort is the fact that she sees the same strange vulnerability in his eyes. 

He steps close to her, running a hand over her shoulder as Missy honks her horn outside. He tips forward, knocking his forehead to her own. “See you, cowgirl.”

She pushes herself up on her toes to press a firm kiss on his mouth, taking in his scent just one more time. “Can I call you tonight?”

He nods and she tuns away from him, not trusting herself to not tell Missy to go off to work without her if she watched him watching her any longer. 

He holds the screen door open for her and she ducks into Olenna’s car, buckling herself in as Missy pulls away from the cabin. 

They ride along in silence for a moment, the rumble of the unpaved trail and the creak of suspension the only sound between them… though Missy had turned the radio down to suspiciously low levels, undoubtedly waiting for Dany to spill the beans. 

Evidently, her friend couldn’t take it anymore. “So…?”

She bites her lip. The tension of her and Jon’s odd farewell unravels, now, as she recalls last night. She doesn’t realize she’s smiling until Missy’s loud laughter, until her face begins to hurt. 

“That good, huh?” Missy gasps through her mirth. Dany looks over to her friend, her eyes feeling oddly heated. Was she going to fucking cry? God, what the hell was happening to her? 

Missy’s face is full of naked happiness, of thorough gratitude and elation. Dany has to look away, a strange, strangled laugh bubbling in her throat. Missy lifts her hand from the gear shift to gather up Dany’s own and squeezes tight. 

+++

“Hello?”

“Missy is worried,” she greets without preamble, taking a sip of her wine.

“Is that right?”

She hums, places her glass back down on her nightstand as she squints doubtfully at her freshly painted toes. She should’ve known better than to go with pink, but Gilly had insisted. “She thinks that you’re going to sling me over your horse and carry me off into the sunset and she’ll never see me again.” 

He’s quiet for so long that she sits up straighter, takes the phone from her ear to look at the screen. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d lost connection— the service from his backwoods cabin was predictably unreliable. 

“Would that be so bad?” he finally asks. His voice is so rough she could almost feel the grain of it against her skin. 

She feels herself warm to the very roots of her hair. “No, I suppose not.” She tries to sound as nonchalant as possible, though every inch of her is singing with want. She finds that she’s _almost_ pissed off. It was simply unfair, how easily her body responded to him. “Though… I wonder if you would have the guts to tie me down or not.” 

There’s another pause, though this time it’s not so prolonged. She hears him release a single, quiet chuff and then _he hangs up on her._

She laughs, loud and shocked and so happy she could go mad with it. 

+++

He meets her at the fork in the drive, his truck idling in the rusty light of evening under the gnarled cedar that had become something of a signpost to her, split to the roots and off kilter from a lightning strike ages ago. He leans against the fender, smoking a cigarette. 

“Thanks, Gendry,” she says to her ride, hardly waiting for him to come to a complete stop before she has the passenger door open. 

She jumps from the cab of the Tacoma, circling around the back, trying her damndest to not run, to not make a fool of herself. 

But it’s been four days and it might as well been months when she seems him kick off the fender, turn towards her, cigarette crushed into the dust at his feet. 

She thinks of their first few meetings as she walks toward him. The sun is melting into the scrubby hills at his shoulder, girding him in a wine-colored brilliance. It only makes her feet pick up the pace, as she aches to see his face. 

Before she knows it, she’s jogging and practically jumping into his arms, and he’s there, ready to catch her just like she knew he would be. 

“I missed you,” she breathes. 

A strange, foreign sound escapes his chest, as if he had formed the words, but they had somehow decayed on their way to his mouth, too frail to make the journey from his heart. 

She understands, feels it in his hands stroking up and down her spine, and they finally break apart, drive off to continue what they’d started. 

+++

Later, twisted up in the sheets, sweat cooling and breaths mingling, she feels the scratch of whiskers on her sternum, the warm trail of a consternated breath over her breast. She tightens the fingers she has idled in his hair, letting him know she’s still awake. 

“‘M… all... tangled up over you.” His voice is cracked and pitted, words muffled against salt-clad skin. 

Her eyes warm, her heart kicking against her ribs. His fingers tighten over her shoulder blades. “If you have to leave…” His chest hitches against her own. “Tell me where you go.”

She slams her eyes shut. She wants nothing more than to tell him _”That won’t happen.”_ or even _”Of course… you’ll be the only to know.”_

But she’s learned a lot from the man now laying breathless and boneless upon her, despite the relatively brief time they had known each other. She’s learned the folly of platitudes, the hollowness of lies— no matter how small and seemingly innocent. 

But she can’t bring herself to voice the truth, either. 

The silence slowly powers up, like a turbine gaining momentum. She feels him sigh, roll off of her. Her sweat-slicked skin pimples with the absence of his own and her fingers grasp on empty air, yearning for him. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he declares as he leans over to his nightstand. He picks up the glass of water there, passes it over to her. “I’ll find you.” 

Normally, such a statement would grate on her nerves, make her shudder and wince with the intrusiveness of it. 

But nothing was ever quite _normal_ when it came to him, and she’s just fine with that. 

She smiles at him, accepting his offering of water. She takes a sip, throat parched, places it on the floor on her side of the bed ( _her side,_ god, when did this happen?). She rolls over onto her stomach. He smiles at her, sad and sincere and it almost breaks her. She smiles back and it’s easier than she would’ve thought, she finds. Everything’s just a bit easier, here, with him. 

She leans forward to place a kiss on his shoulder. “Good.” 

**Author's Note:**

> so i've had some random scenes laying around for years from my first draft/scribbles of Thumbprint. i've been wanting to use them, but didn't really know how. so, here is my answer. it works for both selfish and unselfish reasons-- i wanted to do something nice for my friend's birthday, and JW has always loved Thumbprint the best. and I wanted to get back into the 'swing' of Thumbprint so i can carry some of my creative momentum into it. so, in sum, here you are. 
> 
> thanks so much to everyone for their unending patience with me. hope this is a nice little treat until i get Thumbprint updated. 
> 
> the weird conversation they have on the phone is directly inspired by a scene in [Blood, Coffee, and Motor Oil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4025509/chapters/9049489) by underwaterowl, which has been a huge influence on this fic. it's probably too close, honestly, but i never intended to publish it. it was just something i thought was sexy and funny at the same time. as i've said before, the Jon Snow in this story is an amalgamation of Jon, my husband, and Max Rockatansky from Fury Road. even if you're not a fan of Fury Road (which... why the hell not?), give it a read. it's one of the most brilliant modern AUs ever written. 
> 
> this work is unbetaed, sorry. come say hi [@frostbitepandaaaaa](http://tumblr.com/frostbitepandaaaaa) on tumblr!


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